We report in late June, the early summer days: the weather has been odd, in a familiar way. It is a succession of muggy days that do not know where they are going. As a result, we gave up on trying to guess ourselves, and now sit in the liminal space between sunshine and rain.
We report: we watched the clouds rise with great interest this afternoon. Our expert was certain that they would mature into cumulonimbus, and we had no good reason to disagree, but we secretly wanted them to be wrong. The clouds fell down on their sides, a failed little storm.
We report on a long evening: there is that sunny smell that is still lingering in the air, something ozonic and bright. We expected to feel warm for it as well, but the air is very humid among the trees. We are dancing awkwardly in place to attempt to ward off the cold.
We report: it has been rainy enough over the past month that we have not had a chance to watch the moon change shapes. It looks especially large now, with the horizon to compare it to; a presence we had not realised we missed. We hope to see it again before the night is over.
We report mid-run under the rain: it is not so much that the raindrops are many, or particularly fast for that matter. The issue is that they are big. Our feeling is that we get doused with a bucketful with each drop. We regret looking up at the sky - we got rain in our eyes.
We report: our eyes have been wandering back to the sky all afternoon, as the clouds grew more and more ambitious. We picked up some odd shapes in the blue early on, and our expert took note of the plummeting atmospheric pressure. The sky filled up with updrafts and downdrafts.
We report: our alarm is supposed to go off in about one hour and change, but we have consistently been waking up with the sunrise, even through thick curtains. We attribute this to the proximity of the solstice. The sky insists on vibrancy, straining against our lack of sleep.
We report: the thunderstorm lived and died before dawn, a quiet affair that no one really seemed to have noticed when we asked in the morning. The thunder was a low rumble, something we only heard because we were awake, watching the will-o'-the-wisps light up the horizon.
We report: we watch the retreating storm clouds while the broken gutter is still flooding the pavement. There is a dandelion that is dancing frantically under the constant stream of water, and some gravel from recent construction is running down the street. The sun comes out.
We report about cirrocumulus, a few miles above us - as they tend to be. Humidity and cold air have met, and now we are able to get a look at gravity waves in a way we hardly ever do. We can only wonder as to the type of butterfly that could have fluttered its wings like this.
We report: we had to investigate the sunset in order to see it. We first saw it in the east, the houses that were lit orange, and then above us, the golden rims on the dusk dark clouds. It took us a long time to find a breach among buildings, but we did, and the light poured out.
We report on a crisp evening, with the sun holding out until we are home to blink. We can feel the nippy wind on the back of our neck, but we have kept warm by walking long paces uphill. Our face feels hot, and our icy fingers burn when we touch our cheeks. Summer is still away.
We report: we have got some familiarity with asperitas at this point in time. We even know to look out for them in certain atmospheric conditions. Today, the air is thick and heavy, but there is no storm system on the approach. The clouds consider the concept of abstraction.
We report around midday under an ambivalent sky. We have got one arm in the sunshine, and the other in the shade, and we cannot figure out what we feel. The clouds seem indecisive in their own way, soaring, growing and breaking up into slipshod bits with bedraggled edges.
We report: it has been a few days with little to no wind, and we had already forgotten how a good breeze feels. Tonight, the clouds only stay long enough in the sky to put on a few colours. The wind has a bit of a chill to it, gives a good shake to our jumbled thoughts.
We report shortly before our bedtime: the sky is rather clear, but there is some amount of humidity that has made itself noticed after sunset. It has created a bloom in the atmosphere, and we are meeting the dew point. We wipe our face continually as the moon shyly glows.
We report: we barely feel like we have slept at all. It looks like the morning clouds might be the same ones we saw disappear into the darkness at midnight. Our expert's yawns fogs up their glasses, and we see rain in their eyes. At the station, an overhead line buzzes dryly.
We report about an afternoon in early June: it smells like the flowering privet hedge we are walking along, something heady and fresh. Our knees are a garish green. We knelt in the grass to watch a stag beetle totter through a field earlier, and then followed it on all fours.
We report: colours are leaking all over the floor, a mess that we keep slipping over. A hot soup of sunset. It has been a long day full of cold spots, and though it has only gotten colder in the evening, our face feels sunburnt. Night construction begins in the neighbourhood.
We report: it is very late, and looking out to the west, the sun has been extremely stubborn about setting, the greedy thing. The last of the purple light is just beginning to fade, and the first stars appear behind the clouds. Tonight, we see Castor and Pollux before any other.